


Nothing Happened, The Sequel

by thebathhouseofthespirits



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, Sanji Is Not A Vinsmoke, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebathhouseofthespirits/pseuds/thebathhouseofthespirits
Summary: Thriller Bark wasn’t the only time Sanji heard that lie from Zoro. "Nothing happened," his ass.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 5
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

Sanji was sure that if he wasn’t already in hell, he was jogging briskly towards it. 

He ground the filter of his cigarette into the sole of his shoe and flicked it over Sunny’s rail to join its fallen comrades on the incoming tide. As he watched them make their way under the dock, he raised a hand to cover his eyes from the glare, and grated again at the strange silence of the place. 

Peace and quiet like this was hard to come across on the Thousand Sunny with a captain as loud as theirs, and Sanji preferred it that way. To compensate, he had spent all morning cooking and making as much noise as his kitchen appliances would permit. He was hoping on his lucky seventh smoke break that the breeze would carry any hint of news back to him. Lighting yet another cig, Sanji cursed at having drawn the short straw to stay and guard the ship. He looked out again to the island they had docked at and wondered what his nakama were setting on fire this time. Hopefully Nami-san and Robin-chan were safe.

Over the course of the afternoon he had noticed plumes of smoke creeping up all over the island from the galley windows. The thick jungle may have obscured any sound that could make its way back to him at the shore, but hadn’t completely blocked his sight of strange movement in the canopy. What looked to be waves and large disturbances roiled among the leaves in ways that weren’t entirely natural. He really hoped it was just the wind or just heat stroke but experience said that they were probably fucked on the finding of a pirate-friendly village front. 

From the silence to the weird trees, Sanji was just waiting for the rest of his crew to burst from the treeline with shouts about angry locals and fuck we gotta go now. He could already imagine Nami-swan leading the charge, arms full with stolen treasure and pressing up against her chest, threatening to make her breasts spill over her-

Sanji flicked his eyes along the shore and to his surprise could make out a figure trudging through the sand. As they came closer and left the haze of a mirage, Sanji caught a flash of green hair. He did a double take, and had half a mind to jump the railing and congratulate Zoro for making it back to the ship without anyone’s help. A beat, and Sanji lost his humor when he noticed Zoro was walking at an almost glacial pace, swaying and barely moving under his own steam. Sanji sharpened his gaze and realized Zoro had at some point lost his pack with water and snacks. As well as his shirt? Sanji fervently hoped that dehydration was the extent of the first aid he would have to deal with until Chopper returned. 

With that damning thought, Zoro collapsed on the sand.

-

Sanji grumbled unintelligibly about karma and injustice as he hauled the marimo’s half-naked ass into the galley. He debated just dumping Zoro in the infirmary, but the bastard groaned and if possible became even more dead weight. Sanji steered him to the couch, barely landing his charge to sit on the cushions instead of the floor. To his surprise, Zoro hissed and writhed until he was curled on his side along the length of the couch. Once he settled, he squinted up at Sanji only to groan again.

“You’re welcome”, Sanji muttered, turning to make for the sink. 

Zoro made an ominous gurgling sound before the cook could move far and then shot his hand up to grab at Sanji’s coat. His eyes met Sanji’s with a pleading that was universal. 

“Shit.” Sanji vaulted the table to snatch a bucket in the kitchen, and ran it under Zoro’s chin just in time. Zoro vomited with gusto, and Sanji found that he had to use his free hand to prop up Zoro’s head to make sure he didn’t roll back and choke himself. 

Sanji’s thoughts quickly jumped to sending up the blue flare that demanded medical attention aboard the Sunny, as Zoro seemed to wear himself out and curl back into a ball. He winced with every movement and his face and torso were a shade of grey that Sanji honestly didn’t think Zoro could accomplish while still being alive. Zoro’s hands dug into his lower abdomen in a way that had to be causing pain. One strayed briefly to his hip to make sure his swords were where they should be. His face was screwed up and his breathing was harsh in a way that the swordsman wouldn’t usually allow with anyone watching. Especially not Sanji. 

Not used to seeing his normally stoic nakama in such a state, Sanji averted his gaze to examine the bucket. His eyes widened as he took in its contents. It almost looked like fish roe, but green, and in some cases sprouting roots. Had the Marimo been eating his fucking way through the jungle? There was not a trace of the food Sanji had packed that morning for the crew, and not even a significant amount of bile. That could mean poison, right? Sanji was beginning to feel very out of his depth. 

“Marimo!” he hissed. “Zoro!”

The asshole in question cracked his eyes open to take in the cook’s worried expression. And replied with a flat, “what”. 

“The fuck do you mean ‘what’? You show up half dead and vomit out mini-marimos and all you have to say for it is ‘what’? What the fuck happened?”

“Stop bitching shit-cook,” Zoro clenched his eyes and jaw shut.

“Bitchi- fuck off. You passed out! Tell me what happened so I can help! I can send up the flare and-”

Zoro’s eyes flashed open and he bared his teeth, “Nothing fucking happened! Don’t call Chopper. Now leave me alone.” 

Sanji wanted to rip his hair out, or maybe throttle Zoro, but instead counted to ten, and then thirty. He blew out a breath and pushed off the couch. He got a glass of water from the sink, and made his way back over to the invalid. Zoro had burrowed further into the couch and was trying to hold back shivers. Sanji stood over him waiting for Zoro to give in and open his eyes. Looking over his crewmate, Sanji wondered exactly what could bring out this kind of reaction in the musclehead. It was one thing for him to crawl back to the ship injured and say I handled it, or give some half-assed explanation that Usopp could aggrandize later, but… Sanji mouthed the words. Nothing happened. 

As a full minute ticked by, Sanji lost his patience.

Zoro spluttered as water splashed over his face. He glared murder up at the cook, but didn’t even lift a hand from his stomach to wipe the offending water from his eyes. 

Sanji frowned when no threat of violence came, and no swords were drawn. From that alone he knew that this was much more serious than Zoro was letting on. Shit, had he not even noticed when Sanji came to stand over him?

Sanji took another moment to decide that, just this once, he could play nice with the marimo. Worst case scenario, he could say with total honesty that he did everything he could, and the marimo died from dumbass disease. No one could cure that. Not even Chopper.

“Look, if you can drink this glass of water and keep it down for half an hour, I won’t ask what happened again, and I won’t sic Chopper on your sorry ass. Deal?”

-

Zoro didn’t even last ten minutes. Sanji left the kitchen at the sound of retching to make sure Zoro didn’t die. If possible he was even paler than before, and also strangely flushed, the only colour in his face sitting high on his cheeks. Sanji couldn’t really tell under the blanket he had draped over the swordsman, but he still seemed to be pressing on his lower abdomen. Which seemed to be a bit too low to be explained away as because of the vomiting. Was Zoro having indigestion lower down? Was he trying to save Sanji’s pride as a cook by saying nothing happened? Sanji wracked his brain trying to think of what he had fed the crew in the last few days, but nothing came to mind that screamed I subconsciously tried to poison the marimo. No, it had to be something that happened on the island. 

“Don’t call Chopper. Please.”

Sanji had to force himself to think over the shock of Zoro saying ‘please’ to him. Sanji. God, Zoro must be dying. 

“Why don’t you want me to call Chopper? Marimo, you look like death. If you don’t want me to call the crew back right now, you have to at least let me help. Please.”

Fuck, maybe whatever Zoro had was contagious. He’d kill him after this was over.

But at the moment Zoro looked terrible, a far cry from the world’s greatest swordsman in the making. Despite his blush flaming brighter, he was sweaty and pale, and hadn’t even tried to move his legs since Sanji had seen him fall on the beach. He was tense and could barely lift his head. If Zoro didn’t let him call Chopper, Sanji honestly didn’t know how much help he would be. 

For his part, Zoro appeared even more sick at the ultimatum. He opened his mouth but looked completely at a loss as to what would convince the cook. Sanji normally prided himself on his ability to get beneath the swordsman’s skin and leave him speechless, but this was ridiculous. Did Zoro have a concussion too? Sanji sighed, and stood to go set up the flares.

“No - ngh!” 

Sanji’s head whipped back to look at Zoro. He had dislodged the blanket, trying to raise himself to reach after the cook, and immediately curled back into his stomach, panting. One hand flapped about in the general direction of the bucket. 

Sanji moved to pass Zoro the bucket, which he took in both hands. As Zoro spat up what little bile was still left in his stomach, (without any mystery roe this time, thank god) Sanji got a good look at his haramaki-clad lower body. His sharp intake of breath had Zoro snapping his head up. He followed Sanji’s eyes and moved to cover himself again with the blanket. Sanji grabbed it away from him, and pulled down his haramaki as well, still not quite understanding what he was looking at. 

Zoro seemed to have a bulge in his lower stomach that had not been there when Sanji carried his dead weight down the dock not half an hour ago. Everything beneath Zoro’s ribs looked bloated, his normally defined abdomen protruding out in a way that pulled at his skin, and descended past the waistband of his pants. Zoro yanked at the blanket and Sanji let it slip through his grasp. 

“The fuck pervy-cook! What the-”

Sanji shut Zoro up by pressing on his stomach. Even through the blanket, he could feel the firmness of the flesh under his hand. Zoro’s eyes widened and he gasped. His hand flew to Sanji’s wrist and weakly tried to push him off. His hips bucked and then retreated to the back of the couch, trying to escape the pressure. Sanji had a wild moment where he wanted to keep pushing to see what else he could draw out of the normally controlled marimo. Because it looked like - like - 

“Cook,” Zoro’s voice was raw. 

Sanji swallowed, putting the image of Zoro’s unguarded face in a dark corner of his mind to examine later. He removed his hand, and gave them both a moment to collect themselves before railing into Zoro.

“What the fuck is that?! What - is something in you? And I swear to god, don’t you fucking dare say nothing, I’ll kick you in the stomach, shitty swordsman!”

Zoro slumped into the couch, brows furrowed and looking anywhere but at Sanji.

“I don’t know.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t know.”

Sanji just looked at him. 

“Okay, well start at the beginning. What happened after you left the ship this morning?”

Zoro glared up at him.

Sanji glared right back, “oi, what was that? You really want me to get Chopper after all? That can be arra-”

Zoro growled and threw his head back against the couch.

“Fine! The island is full of these weird ass plants and one of them got a hold of me and stuck me with something. Now it’s growing inside of me and it feels really shitty. Satisfied?”

In a way, yes, Sanji was. Even the ‘weird ass plants’ could account for the moving treeline Sanji had observed earlier. Good to know. But that was surprisingly forthcoming for Zoro after all his caginess. If Sanji knew one thing about dealing with the ship idiot it was that he made exactly nothing easy for the cook. 

Sanji stared flatly back at the swordsman. 

“It ‘stuck you’. What’s that supposed to mean? Aren’t you supposed to be our resident expert at ‘sticking’ things? A bit more detail shithead.”

Sanji watched as Zoro’s flush started to travel down his chest. Sanji forcefully dragged his eyes back up to meet the other mans’. 

“Well? Was it a thorn? A plant fruit-user? Did it crawl so far up your ass that I’m actually speaking with the plant right now?”

Zoro was practically giving off heat with how deep his blush was. He sputtered and looked around the galley for something, anything, to just kill him right then and there. Sanji’s brows raised with every second of silence. His eyes bounced between Zoro’s mortified face and his distended stomach. What the f-

“What the fuck. Marimo, you better be fucking with me right now. Are you trying to tell me that a plant, a motherfucking plant, crawled up your ass and, what? Laid its eggs? Is that what you threw up too? Do plants even have eggs?”

Zoro hissed back, face glowing, “how the fuck am I supposed to know, shit-cook? I couldn’t exactly get a good look at them. I didn’t even feel them go in!”

Sanji had the distinct impression that if there was a god, it was laughing at him right now. He couldn’t really believe he was having this conversation, with the marimo of all people. Now, Sanji didn’t consider himself to be a total fucking idiot. Stories from all over the world had made their way to the Baratie, each wilder than the last. The surreality of the situation didn’t mean there wouldn’t be damning consequences once the shock wore off. Another lesson Sanji kept close from the Baratie was what could happen to someone once their “date” had fucked off after having gotten what they came for. If Zoro had been one of the ladies, or shit, even one of the other guys, Sanji could see himself being a touch more delicate in this situation. 

But this was Zoro. No one looked between the strawhat cook and swordsman and saw civility, never mind consideration. That had never been them. If he were in Zoro’s position he would take his head off if he thought the swordsman was treating him like he was suddenly fragile. Like he was weak. Zoro was still Zoro, and could rely on Sanji to be Sanji. It was the least he could do before the crew came back and saved them both from each other. 

“Well, I take it you can feel them now. Think you can make it to the bathhouse on your own? Or does the expecting mother need an escort?”

Zoro looked like if he could move he would be strangling Sanji before fixing his little problem.

“I don’t need your help, pervert!”

Sanji smirked, and made himself comfortable against the table.

“By all means, then. Lead the way marimo.”

-

Zoro growled but began to move. He took stock of his position and braced himself before unceremoniously rolling off the couch to his knees. Fuck, but his stomach really had blown up in the short time he spent in the galley. What the hell had that plant shoved in him? 

Zoro determinedly avoided looking at Sanji as he struggled to his feet. Once he was significantly more vertical, he was panting again. Whatever was in him was pressing on organs Zoro was sure he hadn’t had before today. It almost felt like his lungs didn’t have enough room to expand. He had to piss like never before. His intestines were cramping and stretching in a way that he knew couldn’t be healthy. That coupled with… other issues, and Zoro was reminded of how just walking back to the Sunny had become so overwhelming. 

He took several halting steps to the door and froze at the sound of voices just beyond it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t handle running into anyone else, he really couldn’t. The cook was bad enough, what with him being in such close proximity to Zoro when he couldn’t control his body. The jackass would hold it against him forever if Zoro bent the wrong way in front of him and got hard. And the last thing he needed was Luffy prodding at his aching stomach. Or, god forbid, Chopper insisting on treating him. 

In his moment of hesitation, Zoro almost lost his balance when Sanji slipped past him, tossing the discarded blanket at his head. Zoro frowned but wrapped himself with the cover as the cook opened the kitchen door. Brook unfolded himself in the galley, with Robin trailing behind him. Sanji swooned when the archaeologist thanked him for getting the door, as Brook noticed Zoro.

“Yo-ho-ho Zoro! I’m impressed you made it back! Robin and I were placing bets as to what hour of the evening our cook would be sent out to go find you! What brought you back so early?”

Zoro glared at the skeleton’s jab, but couldn’t do much in the way of thinking up a good excuse, trying desperately to keep himself upright. Without forward momentum, the floor was looking more and more comfortable. Sanji, surprisingly, jumped to his aid. 

“Marimo got himself heat exhaustion. It turns out his sense of direction improves the more you disorient him. I’m going to take him to the bathhouse and try to cool him off. Send Chopper up when he gets back, yeah?”

Zoro considered that he may, in fact, be hallucinating. The love-cook lying to a woman on his account? And not even offering to serve her first? Zoro might already be dead. Or worse, still high off his ass on whatever that damned plant had sprayed in his face. This was quite a bit too much lead up for one of those dreams, though. He was going to find that monster plant and set it on fire.

Zoro jumped again at Sanji’s hands on his shoulders, steering him out of the kitchen. Zoro barely registered the cook shouting hasty instructions on where to find snacks in the fridge, before the door closed on Robin’s eerily curious face. Creepy woman. Sanji was still touching him.

Zoro let his mind wander as they made their way across the ship. He thought back to the hallucinations that had dominated his afternoon, nearly drowning in the monster plant’s grasp in the middle of the jungle and completely unaware of it. Sanji had starred in all of them. His hands had been everywhere, from his hips, to his hair, his ass, his cock. In a particularly memorable feature, Sanji’s hands had been precisely where they were right now. Zoro refused to contemplate the morality of letting the cook touch him now after having been made to come for hours to the fantasy of Sanji fucking him. Zoro wasn’t sure he could afford to ask for Sanji to remove his hands for fear of not making it to his destination without a guide. He determinedly didn’t think about what had been touching him in place of Sanji’s hands.

He allowed the contact until they were at the base of the stairs to the bathhouse. Zoro shrugged off Sanji’s hands and leaned heavily on the bannister. He faced away from Sanji, sure the very straight, very homophobic love-cook would be able to read his guilt in his eyes. He was panting and hard again for what felt like the millionth time today. Sanji let him catch his breath, and lit a cigarette. After a moment he spoke again.

“So. Beyond the obvious, how are you feeling? In any pain?” 

Zoro fixed him with a look. He still didn’t want to think overly hard about it, and couldn’t focus much on his body beyond his stomach. His day had been a fucking ordeal and it wasn’t over yet. As soon as this shit was out of him, he was going to pilfer some booze, take a nap, and then train away any remaining aches and pains. Tomorrow, he owed that plant a molotov cocktail. Maybe one for every hour it had had him in its grasp, his face barely above the water, and his arms tangled in its vines. After what it did to him, what that pollen made him see in vivid, unattainable detail, he wanted to cut the whole goddamn island into tiny pieces and watch it sink. 

“Ask me later,” he waved off the cook’s question.

“I would, but we don’t know when Chopper’s getting back. If you’re hurt anywhere else, we should work it into our heat stroke story.”

Again, Zoro was taken aback. This was significantly more empathy than he had ever received in real life from the cook since they’d met. He met the cook’s eyes, evaluating what he found there. No pity, no disgust, just patience and a calm that Zoro was finding it hard to fake in himself at the moment. Shit, but it was going to be hard to pay the cook back after this. He’d be on dishes for months.

“... I’m fine, cook. Let’s just get this over with.”

Zoro took a steadying breath and started up the stairs, Sanji spotting him closely from behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Zoro looked like he was going to pass out by the time they made it up the stairs. He was swaying as badly as he had been before Sanji had had to scrape him off the beach. It was clear that every step shifted something inside of him in a way that couldn’t be called pleasant. 

Despite his discomfort, Zoro plugged along. The second they reached the baths though, Zoro was hunching over the sink, resting all his weight on his arms. Sanji was striving to exude an aura of calm, but it rattled him seeing Zoro so undone. It seemed like his nakama was in genuine pain after their stroll. And now that they had made it to the baths, Sanji was a little apprehensive about how involved Zoro would want him to be in the… extraction. 

As if sensing their new dilemma, Zoro, without looking at Sanji, painstakingly straightened and shut himself in the water closet. Sanji released a breath he didn't know he was holding, and thunked his head back against the wall. He slid down to sit, determining Zoro might take a while, if the size of his stomach was anything to go by. As he lit another cigarette, he frowned at the sudden thought of what Zoro would be doing about his plant baby. 

Would it be as simple as a push? When he said he got ‘stuck’ by the plant was it more a syringe or wooden stake situation? Was the bloating a sign of many, many of the small green eggs, or only a few that had flourished spectacularly? Sanji didn’t know and told firmly himself that he didn’t particularly want to think about it any more. 

His new train of thought circled back to the face Zoro had made when Sanji had pushed on his stomach. It piqued his interest, seeing the swordsman flushed, panting, and absolutely lost in sensation. It was a treat in expression, when what Zoro most often directed his way was either irritation or vitriol. Make no mistake, Sanji knew he could count on Zoro to watch his back in a fight, and nakama were nakama. But it always seemed that Zoro saved his more positive emotions for a few select people, and sprinkled his neutral to negative ones amongst everyone else. It had never bothered Sanji before that he was of the latter group, but maybe that was because he had never been part of the former. And, in their current situation, maybe if Sanji was less of a heel to Zoro on the regular, they could have gotten to the heart of Zoro’s problem a lot faster, and saved him a bit of pain. God, Zoro was going to really kill him after this was all over. 

A few minutes later, Sanji was shaken from musings about how to get the marimo to smile at him when a cry of frustration and a resounding thud reached him through the water closet door. Sanji wrenched it open to reveal a very naked Zoro kneeling on the ground in front of the toilet. 

“Zoro?”

The swordsman looked up at him, head lolling against the seat. His thick arms were wrapped tightly around his middle. Zoro’s stomach was now an alarming size and there was no trace of the easy, open face Sanji wanted to see. Zoro was sweating and he looked dizzy from the pain. His eyes weren’t focusing on Sanji. 

“Shit.”

-

Sanji knew he was panicking when he found himself filling the bathtub and trying to recall anything he might have ever heard about water births. He ran back to the other room to retrieve Zoro. If Chopper showed up in the next ten seconds Sanji would take it for the miracle it was and cook the little doctor’s favourite meals for a year. If Chopper didn’t show up in the next ten seconds, Sanji was pretty sure they were fucked. Shit, he should have sent the flare up when he had the chance. 

Zoro was barely coherent as Sanji hoisted him up and over to the other room. Sanji sat him down on the edge of the tub to readjust his grip, and Zoro almost convulsed out of his arms. Belatedly, Sanji recalled how Zoro had resisted sitting on the couch as well, and cringed. Maneuvering quickly, Sanji tossed Zoro’s legs into the bath, and lowered him to lean his hip and shoulder against the side of the tub. Sanji practically ripped his suit jacket off and threw it behind him, gaze not leaving Zoro’s face. Zoro’s eyes were squeezed shut and his breath was labored. Everything about his posture screamed pain and Sanji winced, realizing his presence was probably not doing anything to entice Zoro to stay in the moment. Whenever Sanji took his hands off of him, however, Zoro threatened to slip completely under. There was no avoiding a hands on approach now.

Sanji kept up a constant litany of fuckshitfuck as he balanced tearing various articles of clothing off of his body with keeping Zoro’s head above water. At last he was down to his boxer briefs, and climbed in the bath between Zoro and the ceramic tile. Sanji propped Zoro up to sit astride him, and was surprised as his head fell to rest on Sanji’s shoulder. Alarmed, Sanji slapped his crewmate, then pinched him, without response. Out of options, Sanji pressed on Zoro’s stomach. Zoro groaned and stirred a little, then a lot, noticing his bath partner.

“Cook?” he croaked. 

“Yeah, it’s me dumbass. I need you with me now, got it?”

To Sanji’s shock, Zoro just hmmed and leaned back down into Sanji’s shoulder. Was the man delirious with pain? Sanji pressed down more insistently. 

Zoro grunted and ground his forehead against Sanji’s clavicle, squirming away from the pain, but unable to get away. 

“Zoro! Zoro, listen to me. We have to get them out of you, okay? You have to push.”

Sanji kept a gentle pressure against Zoro’s pelvis as he spoke, but Zoro continued to gasp and then gagged. His hand was back on Sanji’s wrist, even weaker than before. 

He babbled, “I can’t, I can’t! I tried, they won’t come out. It hurts, fuck, Sanji, it hurts.”

Sanji froze hearing Zoro use his name. Of all the impossible words in that sentence Sanji had never thought Zoro would ever use, his name managed to be at the top of the list. Not shit-cook, not pervert, not love-cook, Zoro had said his name. Sanji forcefully shook the thought from his head as it echoed around pleasantly. Not important right now. Not with the second item on the list being it hurts. 

“Okay. Okay, I’m going to try something, alright? You can kill me for it later.”

Gently prying Zoro’s hand from his wrist, Sanji slowly dragged his hands across Zoro’s skin to his back and moved lower. He watched Zoro carefully for any sign that his telegraphed motion was pushing the line of acceptable aid. As Zoro continued to focus on breathing into Sanji’s shoulder, Sanji steeled himself and lightly brushed his fingers against Zoro’s entrance. 

Zoro breath caught, and he pulled back just enough to look Sanji in the eye. Sanji left his fingers at Zoro’s ass, hoping in equal parts that Zoro would let him try this last-ditch effort and that he had a better idea. 

Whatever Zoro found in his face was apparently enough. He nodded breathlessly, and turned back into Sanji’s chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Sanji swallowed to cure his suddenly dry mouth. Consent inquired after and received, he cast around the bath to find anything they could use as lube. He thanked whatever sick lucky stars he had that Franky had left a bottle of his muscle-relaxing lotion on the edge of the tub. Sanji fumbled the bottle, slicked a few fingers and brought them back down to Zoro’s hole. 

As he gently massaged the lotion into Zoro’s swollen rim, Sanji shuddered and couldn’t decide if he was going to count this as a moment of gay panic. Zoro was making clipped but fantastic sounds at the attention, and his mouth was now open and panting into Sanji’s skin, which Sanij’s dick really, very much liked. But Zoro was a man, and Sanji was also a man that really, very much liked women. Not to mention Zoro was his crewmate who needed Sanji to focus right now. He tried to remind himself that this was a purely medical encounter in which he held most of the responsibility. He could still feel Zoro’s stomach pressed up against him, and set his mind back to the task of opening Zoro up like the gentleman he was. In a benevolent, nakama-like, non-horny fashion. 

With new resolve, Sanji slipped a finger into Zoro. Fuck, but he was even hotter on the inside. And loose. So loose, Sanji easily slipped a second finger in. Zoro gasped and brought his shaking arms up to grip Sanji’s shoulders. Sanji pushed both fingers in to the knuckle, and began to massage what lotion he could into Zoro’s walls. Zoro gradually relaxed into the sensation, and soon was stiltedly pushing back onto Sanji’s hand, which was Not hot. He barely twitched when Sanji removed his hand to slick a third finger. When Zoro felt all three digits at his entrance, however, he tensed again. 

Sanji whispered, “it’s okay. Just breathe. We’ll go slow, yeah? That’s it.”

Zoro groaned under his breath as Sanji pushed steadily in. Suddenly Zoro clenched down and Sanji stilled his hand. Sanji hesitated, but brought his other hand from where it had been resting on Zoro’s hip to rub up and down Zoro’s spine. He shushed the other man, not daring to remove his fingers or push in further. The two men sat listening to the tide lap against Sunny’s hull, and feeling the water in the bath move in time. Slowly, so slowly, Zoro let his muscles unclench. Matching his pace, Sanji pushed all three fingers in to the last knuckle. 

“That’s it, you’re doing such a good job. So perfect, letting me do this for you. You feel so good, so hot. I want to open you up and make you feel good. You want to let me do that for you?”

As Sanji went on, whispering into Zoro’s skin, his voice dropped and he found himself speaking earnestly. Why he had slipped into his one-night-stand script, Sanji had no idea. No idea. None. Grasping onto his purely medical encounter focus, Sanji shut up and spread his fingers, feeling something brush the tips of his fingers. Something firm and distinctly not Zoro. He chased after it, curling his fingers and pressing the object (seed? growth? parasite? God, he would need a fucking sample for Chopper wouldn’t he?) into Zoro’s walls as tried to get purchase.  
-

Zoro twitched in Sanji’s lap, inhaling sharply, trying not to lift himself off of Sanji’s fingers as the cook hit something that made his stomach turn. Zoro breathed through his nose, and tried to force his mind to turn away from the sensations that were keeping him from falling into a meditation. This would be so much easier if it wasn’t Sanji, if it was fucking anyone else. Why hadn’t he let the cook call Chopper earlier? 

Fuck, traumatizing the little doctor and being subject to tests and interrogations would be better than having Sanji whisper in his ear, put his fucking perfect fingers in him, and press in all sorts of places Zoro had never been able to reach himself. Better the humiliation of having Chopper remove whatever the fuck was in him, than live out this encounter that would never happen again under better circumstances. These touches and words were carving themselves a home in Zoro’s memory before he had a chance to block them out. 

Fuck Sanji. Fuck that devil plant the most, but fuck Sanji. Fuck his smoker’s voice, and his calloused hands balancing him. Fuck him holding his tongue while Zoro tried not to lose his shit. Fuck the pinch of genuine worry in his face, that Zoro had never expected from him. Zoro was going to throw himself off the crow’s nest if he didn’t die here first. Their non-relationship would never recover after this. Hell, If Sanji didn’t pity him too much to ever spar with him again, he’d either kill or ignore Zoro forever for making him touch another man this way, nakama be damned. God, he was spiraling. He sounded like Usopp.

Oblivious to his crisis, the cook had hooked a finger around something and pulled. Zoro was shaken out of his brooding as cold fire made its way through him. He ground his teeth together and breathed through the pain. He was Roronoa fucking Zoro, for god’s sake. This pain was only temporary. Zoro had told himself that on repeat while being held down by the plant, and voila, he was no longer in its clutches. He had the best crew on the Grand Line, the most loyal nakama in the world. He’d beat this, beat Mihawk, and Luffy would be King. If the goddamn love-cook had to be good for one bloody thing, it might as well be fingering someone out of a problem. Forcing himself to not tighten his grip on the cook, Zoro put his training to use and pushed his awareness out of his body.

-

Sanji felt Zoro get himself back under control, and resumed gently tugging on the mystery item. He had the tip of a finger around what felt like a hook. Sanji was hyper aware that if it felt firm to him, this had to be extremely unpleasant for the swordsman. Judging by the sharp tip alone, there was no way Chopper was not going to be involved, and Sanji could already imagine the absolutely terrible face their doctor would make when he heard the idiotic, back alley solution they had come up with instead of calling him. Right now, however, there was nothing else for it. They were out of time. 

The object put up a bit of resistance when exiting Zoro, and Sanji held his breath, shifting it this way and that before it slid all the way out. When it finally sat in Sanji’s palm, he was surprised to feel no difference in the tension Zoro held in his shoulders. Sanji snuck a glance at Zoro, and saw his eyes closed and face in a mask of concentration. Meditating then? He could work with that. Sanji then turned to the object in his hand and felt all the blood leave his face. 

The thing in his hand looked demonic. It was still green in some places, but it was mostly covered in a firm black shell. It almost looked like a bat, sneering at him, and the hook he had held was one of its wings, a growth on either side of the seed’s body. Sanji didn’t want to meet the plant that these things grew into, but also decided that the island could probably use some trimming if its jungle was going around grabbing people and filling them with these monstrosities. 

Sanji snuck his hand around to feel Zoro’s stomach, and didn’t feel much of a difference from before. Back to it then. 

-

Zoro was floating. He could hear the occasional whisper from Sanji through the fog he had pulled around himself, telling him to push and words of encouragement. The pain had morphed into a burn, and Zoro felt the pressure in his abdomen lessen. He came back to himself when he felt a series of taps on his cheek, trusting that whoever wanted him awake would not bring him back to agony. 

He opened his eyes to find himself draped over the cook. His hands had fallen to his sides, but his face was safely nestled into Sanji’s throat. Zoro blinked, taking a moment to pretend he was waking up and not memorising the way the cook’s skin felt against his lips and his sweat tasted when he licked his lips. He straightened himself off Sanji’s chest and realized a few things he had not had the wherewithal to notice earlier:

1\. He was naked. Entirely.  
2\. Sanji was nearly naked, save for his underwear.  
3\. Wherever his skin could be touching Sanji’s, it was.  
4\. He couldn’t feel his feet.  
5\. Zoro’s lower half was on fire even though the water in the tub was now freezing.  
6\. He could smell blood.  
7\. And despite items 4 through 6, he was still hard.

Zoro tiredly looked to the cook for answers, and found his stupid curly brow creased with more of that worry that Zoro hadn’t seen a hint of since Mihawk had cut him open in front of the Baratie. Sanji looked back. He still had a hand on Zoro’s hip, under the cold water. The cook opened his mouth to speak when the door to the baths almost flew off its hinges. 

“What the fuck are you two doing?! Cuddling in a bath is not how you treat heat stroke! Zoro needs fluids! Get the hell up, you idiots, and go down to the infirmary!” 

Zoro felt like smiling as Chopper marched his tiny form over to the tub with fire in his eyes. He was saved. Chopper would kill him, but he was saved. Zoro felt Sanji’s hand flex on his hip before finally falling away. He turned back to Zoro with none of the worry from a moment ago on his face.

“You heard him, Marimo. Doctor’s orders.”

Zoro grunted. He put his shaking hands on either side of the tub and lifted himself back off of the cook’s lap, not bothering to try to use his legs and refusing to let his cheeks colour. He felt something sharp tap into his side and paused. Zoro looked down and felt his eyes widen. 

The bathwater was tinted red with blood. His blood, he realized. There were more of the green algae pieces he had vomited up in the galley. Many, many more, so many that Zoro couldn’t see the bottom of the tub. Most worryingly of all though, there were several large black things floating on the water. He absently picked one up, and thumbed over a crack down its middle. There was a horrifyingly familiar vine and leaf sprouting from it. All of a sudden, the hand holding the seed didn’t feel like his own, and he dropped it back in the bath with a splash. 

Chopper’s voice at his elbow startled him. The little doctor peered over the edge of the tub and began to sputter.

“What the hell is all of this?”

In lieu of an answer, Zoro passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the by, the seed described belongs to the plant trapa bicornis


End file.
